


What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more

by TheBrideOfTheWind



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Party, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Murphy is Murphy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-19 23:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13134147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrideOfTheWind/pseuds/TheBrideOfTheWind
Summary: Christmas AU in which Bellamy’s shift in the supermarket on Christmas Eve takes a turn for the better as he meets aprettyinsistent customer with a little problem





	What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea after talking with friends about buying Christmas presents too late. Where I live, we celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve, and most of the shops are only opened till late morning.
> 
> The title is a quote from "How the Grinch Stole Christmas!" by Dr. Seuss.

It’s 15.55 on Christmas Evening, and instead of sitting in his armchair and finishing “How the Grinch Stole Christmas!” like every year right before he goes over to meet his friends and his sister at Clarke’s and Lexa’s house, he’s still sitting at the counter of the small supermarket, waiting for customers that are most likely sitting at home and preparing the dinner or wrapping their presents anyway.

He’s not sure why his boss thought this was necessary, because he can count the people that bought something over the day on one hand. What he knows is that all of his married colleagues with children were shaking their heads, and he, the uni-student without an own family who was too lost in thought or to slow – or most likely both – to say anything at all, ended up being the one to swallow the bitter pill.

It’s snowing outside, thick snowflakes chasing across the deserted street, the multi-coloured fairy lights that hang in front of the window blinking happily. Out of the boxes blares the most obnoxious Christmas music, making Last Christmas sound pleasant in comparison.

Books are not allowed while he’s at work, and for the last five minutes, he’s been fiddling with a loose thread that sticks out from his red-and-green Christmas sweater. So much on keeping up the festive spirit.

The thread doesn’t move an inch, and he checks his watch, deciding that 15.58 is late enough and every customer that would come that late to shop on Christmas Eve deserves to stand in front of closed doors.

His hand is already on the key, ready to lock the door, when it’s pushed open briskly, and someone stumbles inside, the hood of his olive-green parka pulled deeply into his face.

“We’re closed,” Bellamy says, gesturing at the opening hours that he scribbled on the sign in the window in the morning himself.

“No, you’re not,” the stranger replies, tapping the display of his watch with two fingers demonstratively. The hood falls down in the process, revealing a young man with messy brunette hair, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. 

“Yes, we are,” Bellamy insists.

“How could I come in if you were already closed?” The man asks, his lips curling into a devilish grin.

“Because we were closing at the moment.”

“Ah,” he hums, tilting his head to one side and blinking several times. “But now that I’m already here, don’t you think you could give me another five minutes to gather my Christmas presents before you can go home and drape your neatly wrapped gifts under your neatly decorated Christmas tree where your neatly–”

“You are here to buy Christmas presents?” Bellamy interrupts him, pure horror in his voice. “On Christmas Evening? In a supermarket?”

“Yeah, I always buy my presents on Christmas Eve.”

“Why would you buy your presents on Christmas Eve?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I only work well under pressure,” he shrugs. “Sucks that I overslept and all the shops are closed already. My friends will kill me if I come empty-handed. I knew I would regret taking the offer for that damn Christmas party.”

“I’m really, really sorry for your inconvenience, but we’re already closed,” Bellamy repeats with an apologetic smile, remembering his good manners and that he’s still talking to a potential customer.

“Oh come on,” he squints his eyes at his name tag, “Bellamy, it’s almost Christmas, the birth of Jesus Christ.” His eyes shift to the jolly reindeer on his sweater. “You seem like a christmasy person, if I can say so. And now’s your time to show that deep down in your heart you’re not just another Grinch or Scrooge. So, what do you say?”

The guy’s blue eyes actually glitter as he looks at him, waiting for his decision.

Bellamy sighs. This day isn't going as he imagined, but it’s already ruined. “Fine. You got five minutes. Then you’re gone. And I can go home to neatly wrap my presents under my as neatly decorated Christmas tree.”

“Okay,” The blue-eyed devil smirks. “But don’t tell me you didn’t wrap them already. You naughty boy.”

Bellamy blushes before he smacks his own watch impatiently. “Time is running out.”

Five minutes pass in the blink of an eye, and as he just finishes putting the last reindeer antler in the box, the stranger emerges with a shopping basket full of food.

“Can I ask you something? Would you be happier if someone gave you two pots of cream or two packages of cheese?”

“Hm,” Bellamy muses, then laughs out. “Depends if I’m Tom or Jerry, I guess.”

“Fuck, Raven’s gonna kill me,” the guy mutters. “Fuck Christmas, fuck this stupid party.”

Bellamy’s head has snapped up at the mention of Raven’s name, the gears in his head starting to shift. Clarke said something about some friend of Raven coming over, a moody Lit student with a big mouth and a quick temper who preferred being referred to with his last name–”

“Murphy?” He asks cautiously, and the guy’s eyes widen, his thick eyebrows creasing as he takes another intense look at his face and his name tag.

“You’re Bellamy Blake,” he cries out, hitting his head with the palm of his hand quickly, and apparently rather hard, because the next moment he lets out a wince of pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he stammers, still holding his head. “Usually, I’m not that thick, but I’m still hungover from an absolute deadly night, and trying to spare myself from being butchered by Raven Reyes cause I brought groceries as a Christmas present.”

_What kind of guy gets hammered on the day before Christmas Eve?_

Murphy seems to be able to read his mind because he’s quick to explain himself. “Not that I usually get drunk at this time of the year, but we had our annual Christmas party a little late this year, and I really can’t stand these people talking about poetry versus prose without a bit of liquor. Turns out I really can’t stand some of them at all.” He chuckles softly, the tiniest dimple showing on his cheek which wakes the undeniable urge to dip his finger into it inside Bellamy.

“Um, I genuinely don’t think you should go to that party without a present.”

“Yeah, I know,” Murphy admits, hunching his back and looking completely crestfallen before his face suddenly lights up. “So will you help me?”

He just met the guy, and everything Raven has told him over the years doesn’t reflect well on his character. But as he looks at him with hope in his eyes, rosy lips tugged into a small pout; he doesn’t know how to say no. Damn it.

He didn’t think he would have to work on Christmas Eve, and he didn’t think he would have to take a mere stranger – he doesn’t find cute at all – to his house on this snowy afternoon to help him make some Christmas presents, but that’s what he does.

 

It turns out that Murphy is the worst in doing arts and craft ever.

“Hey, I have a lot of other qualities!” He yells in his own defence, though Bellamy in mere precaution doesn’t dare to ask him about these qualities.

They take two hours to produce something presentable or to be honest, Bellamy takes two hours with Murphy just giving him orders and mocking his creations. Ultimately, Murphy has a personalised coupon for every one of his friends, and Bellamy doesn’t dare to ask if he wrote anything else than “just an evening with me” in them, because apparently “there is nothing better”.

  


It’s already six o’clock when they realize they are going to be too late. Bellamy’s car is snowed under, and it takes them a good ten minutes to free it before they can drive over to Clarke’s and Lexa’s house to be at least somewhat on time for dinner.

All the other’s are already there, sitting around the festively laid table, and their joint arrival raises a few curious eyebrows.

“Murphy,” Raven cries out, flinging her arms around his neck, merry on whine or Clarke’s infamous punch. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

Clarke waves them to hurry up from the kitchen. “Hey, Murphy. Hey, Bell. You can put your presents under the Christmas tree and take a seat, Lexa will bring you a glass of punch, won’t you?”

“Yeah, a glass of punch is what they need right now,” Lexa mutters under her breath, nevertheless hurrying to put two glasses filled with a temptingly smelling deep red liquid in it on the two empty places at the table.

“Take a seat, please, the goose is ready,” Clarke urges them again. 

Bellamy hugs the others quickly but warmly before he sits down next to Octavia and takes a cautious sip from the glass in front of him. It’s warm and sweet, and the alcohol brings the tiniest flush to his cheeks. 

“Murphy, you know Raven and Emori, me and Lexa, too. That’s Octavia – Bellamy’s sister – and her partner Lincoln. And you’ve met Bellamy already, as I see,” Clarke introduces him, a soft smile on her face.

“Well, Clarke indeed. And I have to say, you told me a lot about Bellamy,” Murphy smirks as he takes the seat next to Raven, opposite from him. “How handsome he is, how incredibly smart and funny, but you sure didn’t tell me how good he is with his hands.“

An awkward silence fills the room; then several things happen at once.

Octavia nearly falls off her chair, only Lincoln’s strong arms catching her and averting a disaster.

“I told you they wouldn’t get along great, but I haven’t thought they would get along that well,” Raven says to Emori, sending her into a giggly fit.

And Clarke gives Lexa a more than obvious slap on the arm to stop her from a snide remark, while Bellamy has trouble not to spit out his last gulp of punch.

“Guys, guys,” Murphy hushes them with fake-indignance. “What are you thinking? I just meant he has very skilful fingers.”

This time, Clarke can’t hold Lexa back, and she and the others burst into screams of laughter, Bellamy’s face taking on the same colour as the baubles on the lavishly decorated Christmas tree.

Murphy’s watching him, his face as innocent as a cherub’s. “Oh, come on. He’s talented at arts and crafts, you animals! If he hadn’t helped me, there wouldn’t be any presents for anyone of you at all.”

“Arts and crafts,” Emori and Raven burst out at the same time, and yes, these two really have found each other.

“Now that everyone has had time to laugh about my hobbies, can we proceed with the evening as if nothing happened and let me carve the goose?” Bellamy tries to divert the attention from the fact that his face is still glowing red.

“Carve the goose?” Murphy asks, taking him by surprise as he reaches for his hand and inspects it thoroughly. “With this deft fingers, what can go wrong?”

He bites his tongue, and it’s only Octavia kicking him under the table and the six potential witnesses that restrain him from throwing the pathetic rest of his punch into Murphy’s beaming face. 

 

The rest of the dinner passes surprisingly peaceful with everyone praising the food and thanking for the invitation. He tries his best to ignore Murphy who seems to be engrossed in a heated discussion with Raven anyway. So he catches up with Octavia and Lincoln, only stealing a glance at him sporadically until he feels something touch his foot under the table. 

A close look down shows him it’s not Octavia’s Chuck-shod foot this time but a brown leather boot, belonging to no one other than Murphy, which he could have told by the slight smirk on his lips a mile off.

“You’re as quick with your feet when it comes to the dishes?”

“It’s not the only thing I’m quick at,” Murphy retorts with a conspiratorial wink.

“Then join me?” Bellamy says, wilfully ignoring his suggestive comment, and starting to pile the empty plates to take them to the kitchen. Murphy follows him with a mutter of discontent. 

“So, what do you have for a present for me?” Bellamy asks while they are loading the dishwasher, and Murphy pauses from throwing the cutlery into the basket to look at him, barely contained shock in his eyes.

He composes himself surprisingly fast, though. “Do you have one for me?”

“Actually, yes,” Bellamy says, pulling a squished bar of chocolate out of his pocket as if he just waited for his cue.

“Wow, a Snickers,” Murphy deadpans.

“Come on, you could at least fake to be thrilled.”

“Woah, best present EVER!” Murphy yells, making up for his lack of enthusiasm with the loudness of his voice as he rips open the packaging of the chocolate bar in a matter of seconds and takes a large bite.

_Ah, that’s what he’s good at, unwrapping things, his stupid – and apparently very thirsty – mind dares to think._

__

“So, what did you get me?” Don’t tell me you didn’t get me anything,” Bellamy whines. Murphy doesn’t let his whining bother him, finishing the last bit of his Snickers without haste and putting the wrapping into the trash under the sink.

__

“ _You_ gave me a chocolate bar you've been carrying in your pocket for five hours.”

__

“I'm a dedicated person!”

__

“I'll give you something if you stop screaming, Emori's most certainly already on her way to check that I'm not killing you.”

__

Bellamy instantly falls silent, even more so as Murphy gets on his tippy-toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas," he chuckles softly.

For a moment, Bellamy gapes at him like he's lost the ability to form a coherent sentence, and again, Murphy takes matters into his own hand. 

__

“Sooo, what are you doing on New Year’s Eve?” he asks nonchalantly, barely hiding the smirk on his face. "Still got a coupon left..."

__

In the end, the Grinch was right. Maybe Christmas really doesn't come from a store.

__

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and happy holidays!


End file.
